Showered - A Tom Hiddleston as Loki One Shot
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: Just a quick one-off about shower sex. Fluff, Smutty Smut Smut, Shower Sex, Very Mild Dom!Loki, Very Slightly Dub-Con, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Some Angst


A/N:

NSFW!

Mature Audiences ONLY, please.

Inspired by this post by the lovely badwolflestrade, who doesn't seem to exist any more so there's nothing to link to. Hmmmm.

Very fluffy, very slightly Dom!Loki - not my usual Loki at all.

Fluff, Smutty Smut Smut, Shower Sex, Very Mild Dom!Loki, Very Slightly Dub-Con, Voyeurism, Masturbation

Work Text:

She had no idea he was there.

He shouldn't have _been_ there, but he truly couldn't resist.

He actually felt a twinge of guilt about it - and that was particularly piquant because it was such an unusual feeling for him, and, even more meaningfully, because she was one of the few people in existence in _any_ realm who _could_ inspire guilt in him.

She was so unconsciously gorgeous she took his breath away, even more so because he knew she didn't think she was. He'd complimented her occasionally - not wanting to appear cloying or false - something the God of Lies was quite likely to be accused of - only when he thought she looked _particularly_ pretty, and had been delighted by the way she'd flushed a bright shade of pink each time, those beautiful, usually bold, eyes skittering away from his in a flash of the insecurity he could see she was used to masking behind that brave front.

The first time he'd done it, she'd smacked his shoulder seconds later, and he had had to control his first, unconscious impulse, which was to extend his arm just slightly towards her to send her crashing - quite probably fatally - into the nearest wall.

Instead, he'd learned to rely on his secondary response and had begun to tease her gently with infrequent, quiet - if heartfelt - compliments that he wished she could see for what they were, but he contented himself with the inordinate happiness of seeing her smile at what she misinterpreted as teasing, even if that wasn't necessarily the response he sought.

Now, though, she was in his apartment, in his bathroom. The Avengers - he still wasn't used to considering himself a part of that team, but he supposed he was - had confronted a particularly evil menace who - instead of directing his rage at any of them - had, instead, seized all five foot two, hundred pounds of her, mid-battle.

Loki's heart had lodged simultaneously in his throat and his feet as he'd seen her held over their enormous enemy's head, seconds from being thrown over the edge of the skyscraper on which they were battling, to her certain death.

Without so much as a thought, he'd risked his own life to get to her, obliterating the bad guy single handedly in a fit of rage while managing to keep her safe at the same time.

She had been touchingly grateful for what he'd done, and he - again, very uncharacteristically - had been made surprisingly modest and uncomfortable by her sincere appreciation.

The doctors had said she wasn't to be alone, just in case, and before anyone else could offer, he had extended his crooked arm to her with a gentle smile, knowing that coming off all brash like Stark was likely to would put her off and get her back up.

In contrast, old world courtesy - like his mother had drummed into him - won her easy acquiescence.

And yet, here he was, doing the very ungentlemanly thing of taking unfair advantage of her, using his powers to remain invisible as she disrobed, slowly, painfully, his soft smile dissolving into a deep frown as he saw how stiffly she moved as she took her shirt off over her head and he saw the deep purple bruises that beast had left on her fair skin.

They were almost enough to distract him from her lovely form.

Almost.

She wore no bra - a fact he had long since catalogued, but her panties were a tantalizing scrap of lace that quickly joined the pile until she was completely naked, wasting no time at all in placing herself under the moist heat of the various directional sprays in the open marble stall.

He placed himself in the corner of the shower, melding himself seamlessly into the stone, clenching his fists to prevent himself from reaching out to touch her as she used his soap to lather herself, from the slim column of the throat that he had been dying to nibble his way down, all over each arm then up and over the twin slopes of her breasts, then down again as Loki battled more demons within himself than he'd ever encountered in battle as he tried to convince himself that she would not welcome his hands replacing hers no matter how sure he was that he could make her enjoy it.

And she had gone on as he'd stood there, as fully potent as he had ever been in his life and yet just as achingly impotent, not wanting to frighten or startle or in anyway ruin either the delicate balance they already had together or, frankly, his current birds-eye view of her.

He could well see her becoming furious with the liberties he was taking in doing this, storming out of his flat and his life, and he couldn't have that.

But he was rapidly losing the battle to keep his hands to himself.

Especially as her hands cupped hips that he desperately wanted to grip with his own fingers as he kissed her deeply and eased himself into her, swallowing her cries of surprise, of almost fear at his size, then ultimately, of pure satisfaction as he sank into her completely . . .

One small, soapy hand found its way between her legs and he again nearly lost it when she adjusted her stance a bit wider, wishing he thought she wouldn't mind if he dropped to his knees and relieved her of the soap, collected her wrists at the small of her back as he magicked away the traces of any liquid between her legs but her own while pressing his lips around and his hot tongue over that firm little bud of hers . . .

But, without his encouragement, she washed herself there rather perfunctorily, finishing off the rest of herself in a very routine fashion, then reaching for the hand held shower head with one hand, letting loose that amazing curtain of long, wavy hair with the other.

His nails dug into his palms and he practically bit his own tongue clean through at the sight. He'd always wondered what all that usually ruthlessly subdued hair would look like if it was ever set free, and now he knew.

Loki swallowed hard and bit back a whimper as he watched her using a handful of his shampoo to wash then rinse her hair - twice.

As rote as her actions obviously were, they were still unbelievably tantalizing to him - because they were hers.

And she was here - within reach.

Sort of.

He saw her reach up - way up, since this the shower was set up for his comfort and thus his height - to put the shower wand back in its cradle, taking the moment when she was obviously going to be very shortly turning off the water and getting out to screw his eyes tightly shut, using it to try to get himself back under control.

With little success.

Especially since, when he reopened his eyes, he saw her still on her tiptoes, pausing in the act, hesitating for a long moment, head down.

He had noticed that her cheeks were flushed, but he'd attributed that to the heat of the shower.

Loki could see now that he was wrong.

She was biting her lip, her fingers white around the handle of the showerhead -

Her pupils practically eclipsing her irises.

Those small heels found the marble tile again and the cradle was left tellingly empty as she backed herself into the far corner of the stall.

And right up against him - practically into his arms, as if she'd known he was there.

But she couldn't.

Could she?

Would she have done this voluntarily? Was she teasing him?

As all of those beguiling, tantalizing, worrisome thoughts seared their way through his brain, she was already bending her knees just a bit, turning her feet out, using her thumb to control the rhythm and power of the spray with practiced ease as she leaned back, wedging herself even further into the corner that was him with a long, ragged sigh.

Loki allowed himself to materialize just slightly in order to form a more welcoming cradle for her to lean against, but not enough - he hoped - that she would realize that her naked bottom was tucked against his rampant desire.

His control had never been so sorely tested in his life, and self-control had never been one of his strong suits.

She was almost eerily quiet - perhaps worried that he might hear her, from wherever she supposed he was in the apartment, the only overt signs of her arousal her ragged breathing and the way she sometimes threw her head back, neck arching, as her fingers joined the fray, disappearing between those soft, swollen folds.

That was when he realized that he simply _couldn't_.

He was nowhere near good enough to deny his impulses indefinitely. He couldn't simply watch her do what he'd wanted to do for her for almost a year now, although he still endeavored to remain as unobtrusive as possible - not going for a big reveal, but more simply insinuating himself into her fantasy, making complimentary movements that were designed to stimulate but not alarm, the touch of his hands on her breasts as he cupped them for the first time so gentle and light she might well simply consider it a wonderful enhancement to whatever fantasy she might be having as she touched herself.

And it worked.

She began to moan softly as soon as his eager fingers curled around breasts that found themselves being milked and massaged, taut nipples pinched and rolled and tugged, and he ate up every one of her responses, growing bolder as he did so, eventually reaching ever downward, brushing her hands and the shower head aside as he set his own fingers to their true calling, materializing even further out of the marble to surround her fully with himself as she melted back against him.

Even as he knew she climbed higher and higher beneath his relentless, knowing ministrations, he felt small fingers around his wrist, pulling almost gently in a pro forma attempt to get him to stop that he had no intention of heeding.

Instead, slowly and carefully, leaving more than enough time for her to register a true protest should she have really wanted to, he turned her front to the wall, feeling the water beating down on his back as he first caught then raised both of her wrists in one of his, using his other hand on her lower tummy to pull her back against him, spreading her legs wide with his own and drinking in her hoarsely caught breath at just how vulnerable he had made her, seconds before he bent himself over her, snaking his arm around her waist, and holding her completely immobile as he nudged himself against the notch within her that would soon become his home.

As he possessed her for the first time, slowly savoring every hiccoughed breath, every tiny, just barely above soundless mewl, every excruciating, teasing time he felt her body doing its best to try to adjust to his invasion, his own breath hissed in through his teeth, and he was again having to fight his own body, to drag it away from the cliff it wanted to hurtle itself over.

But not yet.

Not until he'd seen to her - first, last and always.

Only when he'd rocked himself into every nook and cranny of her, filling her completely with himself, continuing to flex his hips against her, making her squirm and dance on her tiptoes on the tip of his cock, did he murmur a spell that kept her wrists well above her head without his further assistance.

That now free, big fingered hand of his found her unerringly and immediately, slickening themselves with her juices then - as he began to take much more powerful strokes in and out of her - surrounding her turgid button and beginning to, quite literally, vibrate over it.

She surprised him just then by trying to get away from him - not that he allowed it; the strong arm around her waist merely contracted a bit, firmly stilling her, holding her captive and subject to whatever he cared to do to her - but, at the same time, he dialed the hum back a bit, resettling over that now familiar territory, listening attentively to everything about her to find exactly where he needed to be and adjusting how he touched her to ensure that she went wild in his arms.

And she did, seconds later.

She was tiny - but fierce - thing, her reactions were so violent, so primal - and he so thoroughly entranced by them - that he almost lost control of her, but he ruthlessly subdued her and - with his fingers constantly at just the right spot, he brought her to dizzying climax after climax the entire time he used her for his own pleasure, until the last - most explosive - culmination was achieved together as she arched into him and he into her, both shuddering and shaking and mindless in the ecstasy they had achieved together.

It was Loki who took the longest to recover, surprisingly, rocked to his core in a way he had never been before by what had happened between them.

He leaned both of his hands against the wall, kind of tenting himself over her, barely able to catch his breath as she gathered herself after a few moments and turned to look up at him.

"So," she whispered hoarsely, her voice long since screamed away at his impetus. "Let me guess. You were in here with me from the start?"

Her voice was carefully neutral. Too carefully neutral, and he felt her shudder once, hard - and not in pleasure.

Loki's attention snapped out of his own reverie and back to her - where it belonged - using his magic to shut off the water, in case it was making her cold.

He hoped that that was all it was that was making her seem so distant, although he had a feeling that he wasn't going to be that lucky.

He didn't want to lie to her, so he didn't bother to deny it. "Yes. And I am very sorry to have deceived you," he apologized quite seriously. But then a broad grin spread over his face. "But I will say that I am not unhappy at the results . . . "

She wasn't smiling.

She wasn't even looking at him, but was, instead, staring at the tile at their feet, as if cowed by him.

His little warrior had never been cowed by much of _anyone_ , that he had seen, much less him, and that was the way he liked her.

"Is this -" she started, still addressing the floor, then her head shot up and her gaze locked with his "Is - is this some sort of repayment for you having saved my life, Loki?"

"No," he answered immediately and vehemently, but he was horrified to realize that that didn't prevent tears from flooding her eyes, and he felt as if he'd been hit in the chest by an angry Thor who had thrown Mjolnir at him with all his might.

He stuttered uncharacteristically. "N-no, you have to believe me. That is not _at all_ what this is."

But she brushed past him and he ignored all his instincts and let her do so. After briskly toweling herself off, she began to redress.

He was back to standing in the shower - unashamedly naked, his need rising again at just the sight of her - her mere proximity to him - with his fists balled at his sides, at war with himself over what to do.

Two large, completely unconscious, strides, during which his armor settled onto him, brought him next to her, looking down at her, wondering impotently what he could do to get her to believe him that this was no quid pro quo.

But she didn't look as if she'd be at all receptive to hearing any kind of explanation from him.

She did startle him, though, by going on tiptoes to kiss him - really _kiss_ him - all warmth and fiery passion that had him trying to wrap his arms around her to hold her there - with him - forever.

But when she pulled away from him, he let her, as he cursed himself roundly for even _attempting_ to do the "right" thing. He was a God - he should have scooped her up and brought her into his bedroom and tied her to his bed, if he needed to, until he'd convinced her of the absolute sincerity of his feelings for her.

Recognizing the flaw in that plan was an advance - of sorts - that he heartily wished he'd never made.

"I really do wish I could believe you, Loki."

With that heart wrenching confession, she made her way to the door, looking small and dejected.

But then, with one hand on the doorknob, she turned back one last time - although she couldn't meet his eyes - as she let one devastated sob slip, then unknowingly finished him off with, "You'll never know just how much I wish that . . . "

And then she was gone.

He heard her gather her purse and close the door, with a horrifying finality, behind her.

The deep, devastated bellow of anguish he let loose at that moment shattered windows and glass everywhere in a five mile radius.


End file.
